


No Tears to Spare

by RaeC



Category: Hawaii Five-0 (2010)
Genre: H50, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-04-12
Updated: 2011-04-12
Packaged: 2017-10-17 23:34:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 507
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/182547
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RaeC/pseuds/RaeC
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>FIClet, Danny and Steve are kidnapped.  Danny’s alive.  Barely.</p>
            </blockquote>





	No Tears to Spare

**Author's Note:**

> Authors Notes: So, um, topetine told me to let my muses out to play, gave me forty-five minutes before the new episode started and said, have at the whumping. *blink, blink* Well, okay then. *evil grin*
> 
> Authors Notes #2: This unapproved ficlet brought to you today against the advice of the TMC and MRU. As such, any damage done to muses and other bystanders cannot be claimed thru due process in the Circular Courts. All claims will be summarily process by the local authorities and promptly returned. Thank you and have a nice day!

Danny awoke to the sound of dripping water, each drop hitting the ground with the concussive force of shock wave hitting his head. He tried to move to escape the noise, tried to open his eyes, tried to breathe past the burn in his throat, and the pain of every breath shifting in his lungs. The pain in his head forgotten in the need to get more than one ragged breath through in an oxygen-starved body. He gritted his teeth to try and rode it out. He’d been through more than one cycle of this wake, dark, pain, breathe, pain, breathe, pain. They always covered his eyes, perhaps the only part of his body that wasn’t broke, bleeding or just, fuck, whatever.

It had been more than twenty four hours since he last heard anyone else in this desolate concrete prison. And every one of those hours had just hurt. At least he thought it was a day. Time moved differently in here and he tried, tried to make little marks at first, tell time by lights, when he was fed, when he slept. How many times he was questioned.

Questioned, right. More like torn apart. Jesus, even the hair on his arms hurt. It was hard to tell if it was the hair or the skin since everything had been pinched, burned, sliced open. Seriously. Sometimes it was the knife, wicked sharp and lit with fire, fresh from coals. Sometimes a butter knife, dull and frozen in dry ice. Rusted metal clamps tight against his fingers as they tugged, surging current through him again and again. His blackened nails long since fallen out. If he had function left in his hands to hold a gun if he got out of this alive, he’d be surprised. He wanted to laugh.

He needed to piss, but that wasn’t going to happen anytime soon. If he had pissed in a bucket that would be an improvement. The smell coming from his clothes said that they’d left him lying in his own mess again. Which meant that sometime soon he’d be in front of the hose again. As much as it hurt from the pressure and the cold, at least he felt somewhat human afterwards.

He needed something to drink, his throat so raw from screaming over and over in pain. Begging for it stop, give them any information they wanted, please, please, just tell him what they wanted. And what he wanted more than anything right now was to get the fuck out. But he couldn’t rely this time on Steve to save him with some super secret ninja move. He’d already tried, and paid, paid, paid. This group wasn’t any terroristic threat. They planned, plotted, thought.

When they were done, they tossed Steve in the next cell over. That was six meals, two naps, and five beatings ago. And he hadn’t heard Steve’s voice in a long, long time. He wanted to cry.

But there were no spare the tears to cry. He needed them all for himself.


End file.
